A tree grows up from infinity. It branches
out in cotton puffs of green. Which drop snow
over lemonade. Until sorrow overturns the season
to pink petals. Which land on the fox’s nose.
Who sneezes. Each drops with purpose to the moss floor. They strike
a long path through the tangled wood. Shielded by ivy and fern.
Until touching granite edges where water falls off the edge.
Into the stars reflected on crystal seas.
This vision breaks as the tides drain out. Waking with the crow of roosters.
Feet caught in blankets, kicking out to catch the scream of the clock.
The day starts, the night ends. I dream again. This time of a deer, not a fox.
I am the hollow of the earth.
